Father and Sons
Father, he said;
Yes, I answered, to this one
(My younger), when asked his share
This one, so young, so soft and eager–
He broke my heart,
When he gathered together,
Leaving, to squander my riches.
That day, departed, he died
To me, now like stinging wind,
Blowing–I hear only the rumors,
Debauchery, poverty, hoping only
To eat as well as food
I would not
Have put on his table.
My older, he’s harder
And red from the sun, loyal
To me, many years working,
Staying and working.
But (like I’ve said) he’s hard, and he’s cold.
Loyal without love;
He’s had my whole bounty,
And yet squanders my riches.
Oh, that one of my dead sons would arise!
Casting my eyes up this dusty roads’ rise,
This beggar I see, haggard and walking–
Can it be?–Yes!
It’s him! Oh, it’s him!
My younger so long dead son is alive!
Father, he says, I’m dirty, unworthy,
I’ve squandered your bounty–
But, no, my son, you don’t know my joy!
The best robe, a ring,
and shoes for his feet!
The fatted calf-slay it–
we shall glory and feast!
My older, complains, says he’s earned
More his due.
You have and could have it, I tell him
With love, your lost brother is found, was
Dead now alive.
So arise, now, my older,
As your younger has done,
Grasp now my riches, be now my son!